


every story must grow old

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Series: no man is an island [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Arranged Marriage, Child Loss, Cousin Incest, Developing Relationship, F/M, Kings & Queens, Loss, Miscarriage, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Relationship(s), Sibling Love, These are the Targs after all, True Love, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of thoughts on Jaehaera Targaryen throughout the years, as she is seen by those who are close to her. </p><p>Six vignettes in which Jaehaera is seen through the eyes of her parents, siblings, good-brother and husband respectively.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

Jaehaera takes a tumble, her knee hitting the edge of the stair and she gives a muffled cry. Jaehaerys is already ahead on her when he hears. But, nonetheless, he turns around and helps her up just as he’s always done. She might be born a few moments before him, but still needs his protection.

They are twins, Jaehaera and hem two halves of the same ilk. They look alike, and in a certain light it would be impossible to tell them apart. But for all that they are different. They’ve always been. Jaehaera is the quiet one. She follows where Jaehaerys leads. She is shy and fearful, and she depends on him. Jaehaerys knows he is her shining knight, and the role suits him. He will always protect her.

So Jaehaerys takes her hand and gives her a smile. She returns the gesture with a small curving of her lips; a tremulous, pained thing. His sister finds it hard to express herself, but Jaehaerys knows what she means without her having to explain. He is forever baffled that other cannot understand her, for his sister is almost always clear. 

Her fear is clear to him when the armed men enter the Tower of the Hand. Although Jaehaera quietly inches towards the wall, Jaehaerys is well aware of her wildly beating heart. The same fear courses through him. He understands what these men ask of his mother. He understands what death means.

A knot forms in his throat when they refuse to take the Queen’s life. The blade flashes and a sharp pain cuts through him. His head hits the ground in a pool of his own blood. He hears his mother cry but dismisses it. He wants to tell her that it doesn’t hurt. To stand back up and tell her he is fine. But then he sees Jaehaera through the fog that has settled over his eyes. 

Her mouth is opened, her eyes wide and teary, and she screams. She cried like he’d never heard her before. There is blood on her hands and on her dress. Her voice is loud for the first time. Jaehaerys wants to ask her what wrong, but a headless body falls to the ground.

In an enlightening moment he realises the body is his. Panic surges through him. His vision blackens. Something warm touches him. Small hands. His sister’s hands. He is being clutched against her and this is the last conscious moment Jaehaerys Targaryen knows.

He drifts into oblivion too peacefully for it to be fair. He should have been allowed to fight for his life. Jaehaerys doesn’t have time to comfort his weeping sister. He cannot even think about who will care for her when he is gone. He cannot speak and the warmth cools and becomes ice against his skin. Or mayhap it is his skin that turns to ice. He can no longer hear.

Somewhere above the Mother is weeping for the child’s life and the blood spilled. But tears do nothing.


	2. ii.

Helaena holds the child tightly against her chest and thinks that something is not quite right. Her Jaehaerys is too skinny. The monsters! They tear at his flesh. An enraged yell escapes the Queen when one of her ladies tries to get closer. They mean to pry the child away from her. Tears wet her cheeks, unkempt hair, tangled and knotted, falls around herself and the child like a curtain. She will protect Jaehaerys. She will.

“Mother,” the voice breaks her thoughts. ‘Tis not her son’s voice. Helaena looks down. “Mother, it hurts.” Jaehaerys’ face stares back at her, but there is something wrong with it. The lips are too full, the voice too soft, the smell too sweet. ‘Tis a girl in her arms. A girl who looks strangely like Jaehaerys, whose name sounds almost like his.

The Queen licks her cracked lips. “Jaehaera.” She remembers now. Jaehaerys has a sister. A cruel smile makes its way to her lips. “Would that they had taken this one instead. My boy, my little boy is dead.” She hugs the girl even tighter and she cried out in pain. “I want my son back.”

She stares pleadingly at the women around her, hoping that one of them will pull Jaehaerys from whichever curtain he’s hiding behind. Mayhap his sister knows where he is. The girl is looking at her again, something sad in her eyes.

“You Majesty,” the one who’d approached her tried again. “Pray allow us to take the Princess back to her rooms.”

“Where is your brother?” she asks of Jaehaera sharply, without letting go. “Where is he hiding now?” The girl does not reply. “Tell me! Where is he? Where is your brother?” She drops the child and whirls around, yelling, “Jaehaerys! Jaehaerys! Come out now. You are scaring mother.”

The girl crawls away from her. It doesn’t matter. She is not her Jaehaerys. Helaena knows she must find her son. He is in danger. If she hurried, if she runs fast enough, she’ll reach him in time. She knows she will. “Jaehaerys!” she attempts to find him again. “Jaehaerys!”

“Your Majesty, the Prince is gone,” a plump lady-in-waiting says in such a gentle manner that Helaena must stop. She turns to the woman.

“Gone?” she repeats. “Where? Gone where?” She searches the room with her eyes. No Jaehaerys. Only Jaehaera hiding behind another woman’s skirts. She doesn’t have an ounce of her brother’s bravery. “Where is my son? I demand you bring him to me!”

“He is dead!” the girl screeches, fingers fisting into the billowing skirts she hides behind. “Jaehaerys is dead! They killed my brother. Why can’t you understand?”

Something between a laugh and a howl comes from deep within Helaena’s throat. “You lie!” she lunges at the child, prepared to teach her how she deals with deceivers.

“She does not,” the plump woman contradicts her.

Helaena falls to her knees. “I want my son.”

“Aye. Drink this, Your Majesty, and you shall see him.” The sleep draught slides down her neck.


	3. iii.

There is hate in his daughter’s eyes. She used to be a happy child. Aegon eyes her warily. She is wearing the new dress he ordered for her. The regal purple brings out her eyes. It is a splendid garment, fit for a celebration. And they have much to celebrate. But his daughter’s lips form a straight line and in her gaze he can see the loathing.

Princess Jaehaera curtsies, her graces as polished as they can possible be. She is quiet. Too quiet even for her. It was always Jaehaerys that made noise and Jaehaera that followed her brother obediently, a shadow in all respects. A pale little ghost that didn’t shine quite as bright. And now she is the only living twin, alone without the other half of her.

Aegon motions for her to come forward. He invites her in the seat next to his at the head of the table. “I have no queen,” he tells his daughter. “You may sit here, on my right. One day the seat shall be rightfully yours.” He fills his goblet with wine and drinks deep. “It is time that you know your place, Jaehaera.”

“Whatever your wish is, Your Majesty,” she says in that small voice of hers. It is so very baffling how two people can be so alike, yet so different. Jaehaerys might have helped quell her meekness.

“My firstborn son is gone.” He must take a moment after making the statement. Whenever he says that, he remembers how Jaehaerys died. He also remembers that he wasn’t there to protect his son. “But Maelor lives, and Maelor shall one day be the king. You will be his queen. Just like your mother was mine.”

To have lost both a son and a wife, the gods must hate him, Aegon surmises. If they had any pity for him, they wouldn’t have taken all these from him. He has the throne, but the victory is empty. Rhaenyra’s men still crawl about his court and push her son towards the throne. Will they ever know peace, he wonders. Aegon looks fully into his daughter’s face. Her sullen, sad face. She is very pretty when she smiles. Like her mother. Helaena had been pretty when she smiled. His wife lacked the beauty their house is famous for, but when she smiled, even Rhaenys, the first Aegon’s wife, looked a bore beside her. Jaehaera on the other hand is pretty even when morose. 

“I understand, Your Majesty.” She stopped calling him father after her brother’s death. Aegon notices the change, but something stops him every time he wants to ask why.

“You are a good daughter.” He wonders if the compliment means anything to her. Jaehaera refuses to show anything other than serenity. It is hard to tell what she thinks.

“Your Majesty,” she acknowledges him. But that is it. She speaks no more. Aegon thinks that mayhap the maesters are right and all these tragedies have weakened her mind. 

The King downs the rest of his wine in silence. What else is there to do?


	4. iv.

Maelor always knows when his sister is holding him. So it comes across as perfectly natural to know it is Jaehaera's arms around him even when he is burning with fever. He doesn't right know what is so special about his sister's embrace or why he can feel her when she is close to him. He just does.

It had been this way even before mother died. Jaehaera hols him tenderly, brushing damp locks back. He can hear her singing. It's a nice song. A song mother used to sing. Sadness overtakes him whenever he thinks about mother. He cannot even remember her voice. Maelor shifts in her arms and clutches the front of her dress. He squeezes himself against her chest. Jaehaera is the closest thing he has to a loving mother.

Grandmother Alicent sees that he is fed and clothed and taught, but she is often too busy to just sit with him. Jaehaera, on the other hand, comes to see him everyday and she stays with him even when the maester drones on about boring histories. She lets him climb in a chair next to her and hold him. Mother never wanted to take him in her arms after Jaehaerys died. Maelor still doesn't understand why. He asked Jaehaera once, but all she did was burst into tears and hug him tightly. He still remembers.

"Why does mother hate me?" he had asked her as they sat on a patch of dirt where Jaehaera was planting seeds. She had been so happy that day, telling him that father allowed her to plant her own garden. But his question had changed that. Maelor doesn't quite remember the face she made, but he knows she dropped the seeds she'd been holding and they scattered all around as she rushed to his side.

"Don't ever say that!" Her voice had been high and not as quiet as usual. She held him like she holds him now and said, "Mother loves us. She loves us very much. But she misses Jaehaerys."

"I don't remember him." He had said that to her and she started crying. "But I miss him too."

It still holds true. To this day he doesn't remember a thing about his brother. There's only ever been Jaehaera to him. Jaehaerys is merely a shadows clinging to the hem of her skirts. People always whisper about how lively and good he was. But he'd dead. He is dead and everyone stares at Jaehaera with pity. Maelor doesn't understand that. Jaehaera doesn't need their pity.

"I love you, sister," he whispers, having no notion of why he does that. No one will hear them anyway.

"I love you more," Jaehaera replies. "Now try to sleep, my darling little brother. You need to be well rested to beat this fever." She begins humming again, the same song that mother used to sing.

Mealor feels safe and loved and it is enough to fall into a deep sleep. He doesn't even care if he'll ever wake up again, so long as he can remain in her arms.


	5. v.

For a person who has lost everything and everyone she’s ever loved, their cousin Jaehaera has a pride to her. An unassuming aura shines around her. Viserys watches her dancing with one of Lord Baratheon’s younger sons. The meek smiles and gentle voice are the only armour she has. And she buries herself in layers of it, mayhap in hopes that if the raises those walls around her, none shall bother to break them down.

His older brother is watching her too. Whether he admires the sight or not, one can never tell with Aegon. “It would be best to wed her,” Viserys advises despite his better notions. “It would put an end to all the nonsense we’ve been hearing of late.”

“Which nonsense are you speaking of?” To anyone else it would be impossible to tell, but Viserys can hear the amusement in Aegon’s voice. It comes with being so close he supposes.

But back to Jaehaera. She is young, well-bred and even if she cannot quite seem to make sense of all that goes on around her, she is still the only one who can mend the breach of the clan. “They say you mean to wipe out half of our house for their hand in what occurred those few years back.” The daughter of their mother’s murderer, Viserys feels a pang in his chest. She looks so innocent. 

“We are few enough as it is,” the King points out, but his eyes are still on the dancing couples. “And we do not choose out family. She’ll do.” With the way he refuses to look away one might think Viserys has uncovered something. 

“We will need to proceed with care though. Do you know that the ruling Prince of Dorne has asked for her hand? I saw the letter in the Hand’s chambers.” They are both keeping an eye on their fair cousin now. Aegon watches her without displaying a hint of emotion. Viserys’ gazes speculatively. “He wants her for a younger son of his.” Something crosses his brother’s face at this point. “Or mayhap he wants her for himself. His wife is newly buried.” Yet Jaehaera would serve them better as Aegon’s wife. They both know this. 

“Nontheless, he shall not have her, either as his good-daughter or as wife.” There is steel in his brother’s voice, so Viserys gives him a knowing look. Aegon is seemingly not impressed.

“Well, the truth is she has been educated for this position and she had her uses. Make quick work of this.” And this is about everything he wants to say to his brother.

Stalking away from the table, Viserys enters the crowd and moves about, trying to locate his cousin. By the time he reaches her, the song is just ending. Lord Baratheon releases her hand and bows away when Viserys stand next to them.

Little Jaehaera is still a small thing for all the years that have passed since she was a child. “My lord,” she greets him.

“My lady, would you care for a dance?” He holds his hand out.

Jaehaera smiles a small smile and puts her hand in his with a nod.


	6. vi.

His bride hides behind layers of crafted apathy and pretended indifference. But while her face betrays nothing, her hand quivers upon his, soft tremors ghosting on his skin. Aegon wonders what she thinks of as the High Septon’s soft voice fills the hall. Is it her brothers or her parents or any other of those who are no longer of this world? Or could it be that she thinks of him and her and what this could be? Or mayhap ‘tis nothing at all. Jaehaera Targaryen is a sculpture of granite at his side, quiet and fearful.

A cruel man might have used her birth against her. A spiteful man might have taken advantage of her position – the friendless daughter of a dead, traitorous monarch – and shamed her before the whole court. But Aegon would like to think he is not a heartless monster. There is enough blood between them to fill lakes. What good would it do to torture the injured wren further? She lost loved ones too. And those responsible have paid anyhow.

Caught in the blaze of her amethyst eyes, Aegon almost doesn’t notice that the Septon unties the white ribbon that holds their hands bound. Jaehaera pulls her hand back, hiding it in the folds of her voluminous skirts and the ghost of her touch tickles his skin pleasantly. She gives him a shy look, unsure and apprehensive, but laced with her customary sweetness. ‘Tis little wonder they think the grief has stolen her wits. But it takes more than silence and a sad face to fool Aegon into believing her witless. Nay, his uncle’s daughter is of a sound mind. She hides it well, he will give her that.

He could ask her why she hides and he could offer reassurance, but Jaehaera had never seemed at ease with him, or with Viserys. Instead he offers her his arm, and Jaehaera takes it after only a moment of hesitation. Despite the layers between them, Aegon can feel the warmth of her hand on his arm and despite his best intentions, he finds he likes it. There is a soothing quality about such intimate a touch. Aegon allow himself to relax at the soft clutch of her Jaehaera’s fingers.

“Shall we, my lady?” he questions, both of them looking at the cheering crowd. Jaehaera nods slowly, her mien determined. “Very well, let us proceed.”

“Your Majesty,” she speaks, her voice barely audible in the noisy hall, “I shall do my best.” Her promise is touching. Aegon finds himself squeezing her hand encouragingly.

“I have no doubt you shall.” And so they descend the stairs arm in arm, the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It is the dawning of a new age, a time of peace and plenty. Hopefully the wounds of the past will heal and the scars will fade into the black stream on memory. Aegon lifts his eyes towards the sky.

The sun shines high in the sky, blessing the day with warmth and light.


End file.
